Just as You are Mine, I am Yours
by brie3887
Summary: Mary's letter to Francis written one night while he is at war, and his return letter to her.


In my sleep, my hand reaches for his side of the bed and finds it empty, cold, silent. His body could not be far enough away from me right now. The nightmare of his absence is a sudden reality, and my eyes open slowly, not wanting to search for his missing form in the darkness. The wind outside is rattling my window panes, sending an icy draft through the castle. My fire has slightly died down. If he were here, he would get up and bring it back to life, then come back and hold me till I was warm. But he is not here, and my body is still cold from more than a wilting fire; it is cold from his absence.

I shiver, and wrap the covers closer to my body, sliding my searching hand back to my heart. My legs curl up close to my chest, and I close my eyes. Sleep is a foreign act to me these nights. Without him, my body does not know how to relax. It is amusing that in all of our arguments we have never chosen to sleep without one another. We have certainly gone to bed angry, perturbed, and uncertain of each other, and yet, we always wake in each other's arms. Instinctively, we ache for each other. As now, alone, miles apart, my heart and body ache for his own, his touch, his soft and comforting voice. They all evade me.

Sighs of frustration slip from my lips, and I turn my body to the other side, shifting to become comfortable, an impossible feat. The room is glowing from the small fire embers. I feel as though perhaps it is better to be awake for in sleep the lions come. They attack my hope of his return, tear his armor to pieces, and keep a fixed gulf between us. Usually I wake from the nightmares, restless and uneasy as tonight. Usually, I can fall back asleep. But tonight my mind won't quiet.

Shifting the covers I sit up, knowing sleep, like he, will not come to me tonight. As I light my candle, I pad softly to my desk. I sit, feeling the softness of the wood beneath my hands, wondering if now is the time to write a letter. My melancholy heart is prepared to ramble the wandering emotions of my mind. If he knew I wasn't sleeping, that I was worrying like mad, he would not be able to focus on his task. It would be selfish of me to write of all my emotions and needs to have him by my side when he must dedicate himself to his country. I reach easily to take a piece of paper and find my quill in the dim light.

_My Dearest Francis, _

I can already feel my heart begin to quicken at the letters of his name. Tears tumble down my cheeks and dot the paper. I wonder where he is on this winter night. Is he warm? Does he have his own fire to care for instead of ours? Is he safe? And the hardest question of all, is he alive?

_My Darling, the winter wind has woken me, and my thoughts are immediately drawn to you. I worry that you're not warm on this cold night; that you shiver as I do. If only your arms were here to keep us both warm. _

The words stare at me. The "D" of darling and the "F" of his name. How painful it is to see his name, and not be able to call for him. To not hear his answer of "Yes, Mary?" or feel his soft touch on my form while he waits. My heart twinges, a minor sharp pain of anguish of his vacancy. I turn my thoughts back to the letter.

_The castle is quiet and asleep, but my heart and mind long for you. The questions of your safety pace back and forth in my mind. I can see you smile from here at that, but you knew I would worry endlessly for you. My darling be brave, not just for France, but for me. If my heart is tormented now without you, then surely it will die if you do not come back to me. I long for the day of your triumphant return. _

_ Francis no matter what forests you traverse, mountains you climb, or men you fight, just remember, you belong to me as I you. _

_With love always,_

_Mary_

I wipe the tears from my cheeks and set the quill back in its place. The words on the page cannot begin to contain the deepest heartache I have ever felt. I heat the crimson wax to seal my love for him. My mark is emblazoned on the folded letter. In the morning, a rider will leave to find him and deliver these words of love to my beloved.

My anxiousness cannot be contained. For weeks, I have not heard from him. The rider did not return, and every day I fight a menacing urge that he never made it to my husband. The castle continues to function without him, and it bothers me so. I am nauseous at the thoughts that plague my mind. Greer is concerned for my health, seeing the dark circles and hallowed cheeks. She questions me incessantly about whether I have slept or eaten. Who can do either when he is my main concern? What does my health matter if his is not well? Catherine has already told me twice today to stop fidgeting, straighten up, that I must behave as a queen. I had thought once that I could be a queen for Scotland alone, fierce and strong, but now I know without Francis my title will mean nothing. Beneath my brave face, I am weak without him.

Decisions must continue to be made, contracts and agreements signed for my country. I must wait. When the knock at my door sounds, my mind is already focused on something else. But it is a letter that lies in the hand of my servant, one with the scant seal of a prince. I whisper a thank you, and quickly close the door. My fingers trace over the markings in the little bit of wax, and I smile gratefully. Where could he have found wax? A part of me resists opening it, for fear that it is someone else's words and not his. I find my body sitting down on the chaise and sliding my fingers under the seal. My breath halts, and I immediately recognize his lettering.

_My Darling Mary, _

_Your letter provided a comfort I didn't know was possible. If only I could hear those same words slip from your lips instead of read them. Your lips: the soft security of home. I miss them. I miss being able to kiss them. My dreams are only and all of you. _

_To hear of your worrying has not plagued me. I know you will worry for my safety. But I promise I am safe. In my actions, although for France, I think of you. You are the reason I will win this war. It is our love, the unity of our souls that drives my strength. _

_When you are awake at night go to our window. View the moon in her bright glory. She is the same moon to which I sleep under. The same stars blanket us both. The distance will not be so far if you remember we see the same night sky. I will win this war, and I will come back to you. _

_ Just as you are mine, I am yours, always. _

_ Francis_

Neither my heart, nor my tears can conceal the joy of his letter. The words on this paper confirm his existence and his love for me. I am renewed and strengthened. Together we are victorious in any battle.


End file.
